


Son of Atlas

by ThatDarnLakeSiren



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Dragons, Dysphoria, Fantasy, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Magic, Multi, Self-Discovery, Trans, Trans Male Character, Urban Fantasy, Vent Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDarnLakeSiren/pseuds/ThatDarnLakeSiren
Summary: A story of a lonely little trans man knight returning to forgotten roots.





	Son of Atlas

He set his hand against the wall, shoulders slumping beneath the weight of it all. Just a moment. He just needed a moment, to try to breathe, to get himself back under control before going back into the thick of things.

It was summer into fall- warm days and cool evenings, the trees just turning color. Oranges, yellows, reds, even some pinks and golds- like the sky at sunset, now. The leaves were still green, here, somehow.

It had been, so long since he had come here. To his little sanctuary, to play pretend. To be a prince, a king, of his own little world. To play at being a knight, to save the princess and befriend a dragon and fight off hordes of enemies. Falling beneath the might of his blade…

He shook his head, brushing back pesky locks of hair to peer up the walls. It all looked so small, now. A single half-fallen tower, a few crumbling stones of the walls. An old wooden shed, caving inwards on itself. Full of rusted old gardening tools. 

For that’s all his childhood kingdom had been- some abandoned garden in the middle of the woods. Full of weeds and a few hardier flowers, overgrown, crumbling, forgotten. But it had been sanctuary. Here, he had been able to be whoever he wanted to be. 

He wasn’t a child any longer. And sometimes, he felt so, so stuck, as the person he was. His name feeling not like his own, body all wrong, grown all wrong. So different. Just never realized _how_ different. Not until recently. 

Not until he finally realized he couldn’t recognize himself in a mirror. He’d always struggled, but it finally sunk in why. Chest too big, hips too wide, hair too long- couldn’t recognize himself. Didn’t feel like himself, any longer.

He sucked in a sharper breath, leaning his forehead against the old mossy stones, and huffed out a stressed puff of air. Light touch, there and gone, as he strode deeper within the garden. Looking for his old sword.

A rusty bit of metal. Might have been one half of a pair of garden shears, once. But it had been a mighty weapon, a fine weapon. A dragon-slaying weapon, a king-slaying weapon. But he was no king, now, was he?

But, finally, he saw- sticking up out of the ground, a bunch of stones, torn from the wall, squashed in around it. Like the Sword in the Stone- a childish mimicry of the Arthurian tale.

He put his hand to the handle, lightly tracing, before gripping tight. He gave it a testing tug, checking how far down it was sunk into the earth. It didn’t come out easily- sunk in deeper than he thought. 

It was so small. He huffed a breath of laughter at the thought. So small, now; he remembered it being much larger. Remembered a hilt wrapped in leather, a bright jewel inset in the very base of a gleaming metal blade. Childhood memories, such imaginations. It was difficult to remember himself as that child, now. Difficult, to remember so carefree a time. He was so fucking stressed and exhausted all the time, now.

Wrapping both hands around the handle, he gave the blade another cautious pull, before pulling back with all his might.

And the world shifted around him.

The whinny of a horse startled him- he heard the hushed murmur of people nearby. The world was brighter, cooler, a hint of rain in the air, misting down. Everything smelled richer- the blade in his hand was heavier. 

He blinked down at himself, feeling the shift of a cloth about his face and neck- his clothes were _different_ , hoodie and jeans and sneakers gone- rougher cloth pants and scratchy shirt- was that _wool_?? and a colorful blue cloak about his shoulders, feet stuffed into tight leather boots. His chest- there was a tightness there that shouldn’t be- cloth bound tight in a way that made breathing feel _wrong_.

The flash of metal in the corner of his eye- the rusty blade in his hands, heavier than it was a moment ago- and he paused, staring. 

The rusty blade, now a sword- gleaming metal, leather-wrapped handle, a jewel- the jewel. A deep blue, like the sea, set into the blade and shining, gleaming, so cold, full of icy power stolen from the heart of a dragon from the far north-

Just like he remembered. Just like his childhood. 

He felt lightheaded, pressing a hand to his forehead, the sword falling to the side. A metallic circlet in his hair- set with something, some stones or other- and he didn’t understand. He simply didn’t understand.

“My Prince!” he blinked, flinching from the man that was standing too-close to him. “Are you alright? You pulled the sword and now you’re shaking and speaking nonsense!”

He couldn’t help the bared teeth, the distrust- he was squinting, his glasses gone- he didn’t understand what was happening. It was all too much- he was too overwhelmed.

Giving a sharp snarl of sound, he turned on his heel and bolted into the surrounding woods. Familiar, unfamiliar- paths imagined, paths that were now _real_ \- too much, too much, sword tucked just so against him so he didn’t cut himself. 

Ignoring the cries of a name, _his_ name behind him. The name he’d always wanted. 

_“Jesse! Jesse come back!”_


End file.
